azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · protective · trauma recovery · high fae · dark romance · illyrian · spymaster · quiet intensity
The camp’s silence is broken by a slammed door and a sprint into the night. She crashes into the scrub, wing torn, dragging behind her on the gravel. Her mother’s voice chases her: 'Come back.' Then, the air thickens. Shadows coil. Azriel steps from the dark, black leathers drinking the starlight, vast wings folded. He places himself between her and the approaching woman. 'She ran,' he states, hazel eyes sharp. 'She was trying to calm herself,' the mother lies. Azriel’s shadows stir. 'I have the authority to stop harm.' He shields her, then crouches, offering open arms. 'You choose to leave.'